Allamorph

[FONT=Arial]I want you to do me a favor, [COLOR=DarkRed]Matt[/COLOR]: stop the presses for a while, neh? Part of the reason I never got back to you on [U]Kenzoku[/U] (which [I]was[/I] it's name, since you seem to have forgotten :p) was that when you asked me to take a look at it, you handed me eighty-five pages the first time and just kept going. Any comments I might have wanted to make kept getting smothered by new material that usually had the same type of issue, and so I stopped feeling like I was going to be of any use to you. So just take it easy for a few, and let's see what I can come up with. And this isn't to say that you should stop thinking about the project. Just stop actively writing for a while, and see if your head starts seeing little inconsistencies while it mulls over what you've created. Backing off and taking a second or fifth look will reveal marvels to you. [CENTER]-----------------------[/CENTER] Unfortunately, I don't think I can agree with anything D-dub said. You do have various spelling and grammar items that need attention, but I don't believe they're the real problem; as you pointed out, this was a first draft. Sure, getting spelling and grammar right is important, but you should always be watching for it anyway. I can see several other concepts that I feel you need to get straight first if you want this novel to work. [B][U]Setting[/U][/B] Right, so straight off the bat I can tell that you 're going for a fantasy setting, with an agrarian society and separated classes and magic and dungeons and dragons and the works. This is cool. But are you sure you know what you're doing? I'm not convinced, myself. In the first place, your language doesn't always match. There were several instances when you used words, phrasings, or ideas that evolved post-17th century at least: [list][*]"mercs" ? prologue, third paragraph [*]"in all actuality" ? I, third paragraph; this phrase is just excess verbiage anyway, and shouldn't be used. [*]"but some had a harder dick than most" ? I, thirty-eighth paragraph [*]"miles" ? I, forty-sixth paragraph; "leagues" is a more era-appropriate measurement unit. [*]"micro inns" ? I, forty-sixth paragraph; "micro-" is a modern prefix, degenerated into even more modern slang. [*]"Hell, for all intents and purposes" ? II, second paragraph; hell is a post-Roman Catholic empire expletive, and the phrasing you used there is more closesly associated with the 19th and 20th centuries. [*] "magical blueprint" ? II, nineteenth paragraph; "blueprint" is an architectural-based slang term, derived from when plans for buildings were printed on blue paper. [*]"crime boss" ? III, second and third paragraphs; "boss" as a term originated around 1650 as a word unique to American English. [*]"to the Devil with you" ? III, thirty-second paragraph; I noticed you attempting to avoid references to Judeo-Christian concepts in several other places, but you did not here. Why? In passing, perhaps instead of 'hell' or 'hells', you might consider using 'underworld' or 'realm of the dead' or something. [*]"gods-forsaken"/"gods-blessed" ? III, forty-fourth and forty-fifth paragraphs; this term originated around the middle of the nineteenth century. [*]"warehouses" ? III, fiftieth paragraph; "storehouses" would probably fit better. [*]"concrete"/"cement" ? III, fifty-third paragraph; stone architecture might better serve you, unless you feel comfortable at having the process for making concrete and cement available to this civilization. (I forgot to mention this back in Kale's chapter)[/list] Basically, you need to always keep the language the narrator and the characters are using consistent with the era. If certain idioms have not yet evolved, using them will instantly indicate that you don't know what you are doing, and are probably just tossing in the phrase because you want it there, instead of using what belongs. Just because [I]you[/I] are familiar with the items does not mean your characters are. The second way I can tell this is unfamiliar territory to you is the era-specific phrasing you attempted to use but failed to execute. For instance, you called an unimportant bandit a "poor sod". Sod is grassy earth. What you wanted was [I]sot[/I], meaning drunkard. Also, you at one point had a character say that something would be done "in the marrow". Anything in the marrow is inside your bones, 'marrow' being that red stuff that makes blood cells. The phrase you really wanted was [I]on the morrow[/I]; an easy way to remember that would be by relating it to "tomorrow", which is essentially the same thing. On a related note have you ever actually drunk wine? [QUOTE]He got himself a glass and a seat at the table. One of its legs was cut short and a block of concrete kept it steady. He took a sip of the wine. [B]Even with just a sip, the wine had more than a kick.[/B] He toyed with the idea of what would happen if he poured a full glass.[/QUOTE] Make sure before you write anything about any kind of alcohol that you know what you're talking about. As far as I am aware, all wine has essentially the same alcohol content, so better wine would probably not have any more of a 'kick' than cheap wine; the distinction is more in the combination of flavors. I suggest checking with people you are sure know their wine knowledge and tap that instead of attempting to fudge anything. I especially urge you to do so because I don't necessarily trust my own knowledge on the subject. [B][U]Pacing[/U][/B] You move too fast. I think if I were to pin down exactly what I think on this subject, I'd have to say that you're attempting to write a movie. And I don't mean that I think you're composing a movie script, either; more accurately, you're taking images that you see and attempting to transcribe them to paper as quickly as possible. The concept of real time is lost while I'm reading your work; everything just runs together, you skip whatever doesn't seem to be visually important, and there are no discernible breaks when you [I]do[/I] want to indicate that time has passed. Take the prologue, for example: [QUOTE]He went to a small pool of water and cupped his hands. The water was warm, probably days old. [B]Then he heard the horses. It was distant[/B], like the leftovers from some spirits messed dream. He looked at the water, as if they were to blame. [B]The sounds were getting louder.[/B] [B]They were getting closer.[/B] ?We?re out of here! Now!? Some of them gave him looks as if he was insane. He could see that one of them had already stripped a woman bare. ?Someone found us! We are going!? Some took a glance at their partners, looking for confirmation. The rest were already up and ready to get out of here. [B]The sound of horses were much louder now.[/B] [B]They were here.[/B] He turned around, and beyond the trees, he could see them. A dozen horses at the smallest, their riders fully armed. Blades, hammers and spears, plated armor and leather jerkins. He had been caught. He knew it, he wasn?t no fool, like the rest of his boys who were running and screaming like a cock with its head cut off.[/QUOTE] Basically, either these horses are teleporting while running or the bandit chief has Down Syndrome. If he heard the distant sound of horses' hooves and immediately called his men to move, they would have had at least a few minutes to flee before being overrun. I understand that perhaps he might have stood over the pool for a few seconds to gauge whether the horses were coming closer, but I still think you skipped to the slaughter far too quickly, especially if you have Andrew and his troll on foot running into the forest. Unless they can magically keep up with horses at full gallop, they would have had to be riding as well (which Zabazin doesn't do), and therefore needed time to dismount. Also, by cutting so quickly to the bandit's demise, you basically ruined any possibility of the tension that you were so obviously gunning for. (Ending with a preposition, I know, I [I]know[/I]. :p) All I get out of the entire prologue was "raided a village, fled to woods, horses, oh crap, dead". That deficiency continued throughout the rest of the narrative. Andrew gets paid, he leaves camp, comes across a village, has a conversation, sleeps, and is almost instantly at the capitol, with a small detour to remark upon "Snow Is Falling", which you didn't even bother to do more than skim. To fix this, I'd suggest reading a bunch of high-end literature authors, and [I]not speed-reading[/I]. Read every word, pay attention to how much time the author spends developing the little details, pay attention to how fast the story moves, when it moves, and when it doesn't. Description and detail is just as important as action and dialogue?and they play a huge role in killing the time spent traveling, since you can have the main character (or whoever's pov you're in at the moment) ruminate on the subject themselves, and in the process develop their personality. And when you do go back and fill in the numerous gaps you have, you can alter your chapters into sections, and break those into chapters inside the same person's veiwpoint. Use Tolkien for that kind of concept. He does it best. [B][U]Making Sense[/U][/B] I noticed a couple of places where you gave a description of a person or place but didn't bother to keep it in line with itself. Zabazin comes readily to mind. [QUOTE]And of course, there were the tusks. Each troll had tusks, even the women, and they were all different. Some were short and went upwards, while others were like the mammoths of his homeland and swooped downward. [B]Zabazin?s shot up, ending just below his orange eyes.[/B][/QUOTE] If that image is what I think it is, Zabazin will be dead inside of three years. Tusks are continuously growing appendages, and those that curl upwards must be regularly sharpened or honed so that they do not grow into their owner's brains. As it stands, you failed to mention whether trolls keep their tusks trimmed or groomed, so the assumption is that they do not. However, even if trolls do sharpen them and control their length, Zabazin's tusks are a danger to his eyesight; one well-placed blow or one unfortunate tumble could blind him. Then you mentioned horses. [QUOTE]Zabazin walked beside him. Zabazin had left the Red Horn Tribe three years ago, and although he had long since dealt away with most of his superstitions that plagued most trolls, [B]there were a few things he would not do. Riding a horse was one of them.[/B] Learning how to ride a horse was one of the first things he taught his blood brother, and he was certain that Zabazin was a better rider than he, but Zabazin would not ride a horse under even the worst circumstances. [B]The only time had ridden a horse was when he was caught under red oak venom[/B], and even then that was only because he was unconscious from the salves a shaman had given him.[/QUOTE] If these facts is true, then how did Andrew teach Zabazin to ride? Then Lion's Spire: [QUOTE]Guards were set at the gates, with a multitude of booths set up for ?gate taxes?. This wasn?t the first time Anthony had seen a major city profit from large crowds. [B]It was obvious this Lion Spire was not used to this[/B] ? it was far too easy to slip by the booths. [CENTER]//[/CENTER] Maybe they saw the illusion. All of this heightened security was all just a well crafted illusion, to keep the people?s faith, and to ensure that Altervista?s rivals didn?t think of it as any weaker than it already was. But anyone who had seen a city truly preparing for a siege could tell that Lion Spire was doing it all wrong. It was all just a mask. Duroro?s Risen were pressing on their borders, they have their people scramble behind Lion Spire?s walls, and they just put on a false illusion of security. Why? The nobles and the King knew something that the others didn?t. But what could it be? [CENTER]//[/CENTER] ?Why am I telling you this? Well, it?s quite simple. You see, I am a creation of chaos. My father killed my mother in a drunken stupor, and the buffoon got himself killed by a runaway chariot. I lived off of the streets, full of wanderers and has-beens.[B] I know how this city works. It doesn?t. It?s run by chaos. One minute there?s a king, the next a republic, the next nobody at all. Lion Spire is like a dog after a running chariot. We wouldn?t know what to do with it if we ever caught it![/B] But this agent, the Queen of Duroro, she too is an agent of chaos, albeit she doesn?t know it.[/QUOTE] For being the capitol of Altervista, Lion's Spire is pretty worthless. Capitols are usually massive places, used to huge amounts of trading traffic and random people journeying to the temples. If the political structure is so precarious, unstable, and subject to random change, why is it still a capitol? If Altervista is tiny, that might make sense. But you didn't clarify anything, or give reasons or even surface explanations for anything, so we are left to assume that Altervista is some grand place filled with worthless ilk. Corruption I can understand. Political philandering, too. But random, frequent government upheaval? Doesn't make sense, and if your Andrew is perceptive enough to penetrate the supposed machinations of Vujo Dunn, then why can he not see the reasons for the city's unrest? For that matter, what does he even look like? [B][U]Details[/U][/B] Like I just said, you never once described Andrew. Twice you even called him Anthony. You got by with a generic description of Zabazin, by describing his race and then telling us his hair and eye color and which direction his tusks point. You even described Viggo, the large keg of a man (what does that even mean?), and the mercenary leader and for crying out loud even the [I]horse[/I], who only appears in three sentences in the first chapter; but you never once see Andrew. Or Kale, for that matter. Incidentally, I notice that Kale's full name, Kalemitcus K'Harn Kahulandeur, reminds me structurally of Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander. Bad boy. So I'll tell you the same thing I tell everyone else: You as the author are in the unique position to be able to see everything yourself. We as the audience cannot see what you see unless you describe it for us. In order to pull off good description, you have to be willing to take your time writing stuff down, or else audience can see nothing and instead feels like they're being driven at two-hundred miles an hour down the Durorian freeway. [B][U]Dialogue[/U][/B] I think I saw at most three speech tags in the entire narrative. Speech tags are [I]essential[/I]. I cannot stress enough how important it is to include these tags. In the first place, they tell the reader how the speaker is phrasing their statements, whether it be groaning, chuckling, sighing, exclaiming, or what have you. Second, they allow you to have characters move while speaking: [QUOTE]The bandit grinned. It was time to leave. ?All right you sons of whatever," [COLOR=Red]he cried,[/COLOR] "time to move!" [COLOR=Red]He thrust his fist in the air.[/COLOR] "To the woods!? [/QUOTE] Adding breaks in speech and tags allow for a much better visual; before, all I could see was a guy standing and shouting. Now he's animated, a leader. Third, it allows the reader to keep track of who's speaking: [QUOTE][SIZE="1"]At that moment, he felt his insides went cold. The earth shot upwards, emulating the skeletal frame of a normal man. Green energy crackled, outlining the appearance of the fallen god of death. A cold face crafted of iron, with a body forged from iron. ?Even I have my limits, mage.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Mazradeus][/FONT][/COLOR] Despite him being confined to a mortal human?s body, his presence took the life of the grass his feet stood on. And at the same time, some of the grass grew even larger. ?Ah, the fallen lord of the dead. I did not expect to see you. I would have had someone fetch some hot tea.?[COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"] [Kale][/FONT][/COLOR] ?Spare me your remarks, mage. You all know what the Queen is, and who birthed her. I am not fallen just in title.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Mazradeus][/FONT][/COLOR] ?Look, its simple. I will just track down the agent. Bone breath can help me lock onto her...well, whatever strands of magic she has left, and we?ll take her down. Simple.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Kale][/FONT][/COLOR] Kale shook his head. ?You always say it?s simple, and then things escalate out of control, and who has to bail you out?? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Kale . . . wait . . . . who spoke before this, then?][/FONT][/COLOR] ?If you have someone better in mind, do tell. Kutomori wants you back now, and me in a month. The Risen can handle themselves, but if we have them look, it will look like a full out war.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Mazradeus?][/FONT][/COLOR] ?I thought it already did. We had only wiped out a guild?s outpost.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Kale][/FONT][/COLOR] ?I will go, you head back.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Mazradeus][/FONT][/COLOR] ?Yes yes, fine, do what you want.? [COLOR="Red"][FONT="Arial"][Kale][/FONT][/COLOR] She curtsied. ?Glad to see you agree.? [FONT="Arial"][COLOR="Red"][Mazradeus . . . wait, Mianya?][/COLOR][/FONT] She wisped away, and the image of Mazradeus broke apart.[/SIZE][/QUOTE] Fortunately, most of the time you're only back-and-forthing between two characters, but you still need to make sure the reader knows who's speaking. Also, leaving tags off of long block of speech is inadvisable; although omission in those cases can be useful, you lose the opportunity to set up character motions and gestures, or even indicators that the speaker will not be moving for the next few paragraphs. Also, it's best to leave off the tags in quick-fire dialogue between two people only, and even then a break now and again should keep the concept of live and motion alive. So although you might know how people speak, you don't seem to be aware of how they move while speaking. Watch someone's hands next time you can observe conversation. Then watch someone else's head, then just the eyes, or the mouth, etc. [B][U]Final Thoughts[/U][/B] I'm not going to go through and point out all your spelling and grammar errors now because I don't want to take up any more of your time, and I think you should be able to spot them yourself if you'll just go back and look again. I reamed you a lot just now, but this is all stuff you can work on and make better, not reasons to quit. I'll be curious about the Risen once you can work up a better description of them, and naturally Phase Blades have my attention. However, I'd like to counter something said by DW. [quote name='Dragon Warrior][SIZE="1"']On a final note, readers (especially on OB) tend to be frightened of large texts.[/SIZE][/quote] If you want popularity, sure. But the same people who are supposedly frightened of large sections of writing are probably also not going to be of any use to your growth as a writer. If you want a bunch of "wow that's AWESOME", then go for it. If you want actual help, post how you will. Also: [QUOTE][SIZE="1"][I][QUOTE][I]?And they?d be needing some swords?? Zalbazin sported a grin full of knives.[/I][/QUOTE] That's not an error. I just thought it was clever writing. :][/I][/SIZE][/QUOTE] No, it really wasn't. It was a reference to sharp teeth that tried too hard. It could have been much better, and [I]much[/I] cleverer.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]Me again, with my usual dose of old-but-still-better-than-yours. Boston, this time, with their masterful [B]Foreplay/Long Time[/B]. [CENTER][YOUTUBE="Boston"]BQifd7O_N5k[/YOUTUBE][/CENTER] That's how rock is supposed to sound.[/FONT]

[quote name='Matt']And that is exactly why you don't read just the first post and post right off the bat. Because then you get into tricky situations like that.[/quote] [FONT=Arial]Wait, wait. You're kidding. Oh snap. :animeswea[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial][INDENT][I]"I dreamed I ripped all the skin off my face and was someone else underneath." [INDENT][SIZE="1"]–The Shadow[/SIZE][/INDENT][/I][/INDENT] The spring semester of my freshman year of college, I dreamt I was someone completely different, and when I woke up I had no idea who I was. And after three seconds of wondering who and where I was, the best thing I could come up with was "wait . . . what?" I tend to have the dreams that people get when they take acid, come to think of it. There was one with a moray eel writhing vertically in the middle of a dirt road while making a chanting sound similar to 'jub', a three-headed talking python the size of Alaska's perimeter, some creature in a basket that was part gold, part white-and-black, and part invisible, alternately (whenever it was most aggravating on the eyes), and a bunch of Kenyans. Serious lolwut.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial][SIZE=1]O-o-oh, a kindred spirit. ♥[/SIZE] Nah, it's completely impossible to be too curious. Some people?like me?just enjoy finding out about things. Heck, I used to tote around our Thorndyke-Barnhardts when I was in early grade school, just to see if I knew what stuff meant. (I don't anymore, but it's been a few years so I should probably give the ole' things a re-read. :p) It is possible to be curious and lack any sense of tact, though. Ask the wrong question in the wrong place and you'll be red for a week. Ask the [I]right[/I] question in the wrong place and the reactions are almost invariably priceless. And don't be hard on people just 'cause they don't know stuff. Some people don't retain information like you seem to do, and others don't care so much.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]Dude, Robot Chicken is great. It's possibly the only show I watch on [as] anymore, just because it's so dang screwy. I mean, who else would start with a Star Wars / Star Trek combo convention and end up with a circus composed entirely of Leonard Nemoy clones? I [I]really[/I] need to get back to school. Can't watch TV late in this darned house because it's supposedly bad for my health. But if anyone still cares, I'll toss up an updated schedule maybe a week before I go back.[/FONT]

[IMG]http://www.marriedtothesea.com/072608/official-energy-drink.gif[/IMG] [FONT="Arial"]That's really dang clever of us, come to think of it.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]I think I'll just be the completely insensitive guy and go chuckle to myself in the corner. And I'm really not sure why, but I find the situation incredibly amusing. So yeah. _> [I]WHOOOO[/I] babies!!! [I]*shot*[/I][/FONT]

[quote name='P.J. McKrafty][FONT=Arial][COLOR=Navy]Shhhhhhhh! There is no reason, just plot devices.[/COLOR'][/FONT][/quote] [FONT=Arial]I hate to break it to ya, but plot devices [I]are[/I] reasons. :animesmil[/FONT]

[quote name='CrimsonKnight][COLOR="Red"']2) I'm smarter than you think.[/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]I don't think you realize the implications of that statement there. Since you don't know how smart I think you are, you're assuming that I think you're rather dumb. If that's true, then that would mean you have given me sufficient evidence to decide that you are dumb, in which case it is entirely possible that you [I]are[/I] as smart as I think you are. In short, your entire post there was a waste. It had nothing to do with the topic, and it blatantly ignored both [COLOR=DarkRed]Clurr[/COLOR]'s admonition and my own, which was to just take it easy about this whole thing. Why you seemed to think it more important to get angry over her [I]supposedly[/I] confusing your gender than to say "okay, I'll be cool" is beyond me, but that's enough. Enough of the melodrama, enough of the off-topic drama, and enough of the drama period. Just cool it, 'aight? 'Aight. [quote name='Nerdsy][COLOR="Hotpink"']That's not to say that there aren't good cartoons, but for every Batman:TAS there's a dozen terrible Marvel cartoons.[/COLOR][/quote] Or a Chuck Norris or Mr T. cartoon. :p[/FONT]

[quote name='Aaryanna][COLOR="DarkGreen"][FONT="Book Antiqua"]Oh and before I forget, I find it rather amusing that Nicholas likes donuts of all things. :D [/FONT'][/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]Why? The boys'll be headin' north to the drop-box before lookin' towards Lawsiana. And I second the e-mail thing. But I think I might have a way to address it.[/FONT]

[quote name='Raiha][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]I could've been an RA but I decided not to accept their offer because I have such a low tolerance for college students trying to be cool.[/FONT'][/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]No wonder we bicker so much.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]Thank you, [COLOR="DarkRed"]Rach[/COLOR]. So since I am always looking for someone to crack down on me and help me get better, yesterday I took this short to our resident English major?my mother?for review. She had a good bit to say, so from here on out I'll distinguish her voice as Comic Sans, her favorite font. :p (And since she was making notes on paper, she'll sound a little terse.) [CENTER]---------------------[/CENTER] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]It is a nice short story. There is a problem with the tenses, though.[/FONT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]Three blocks behind me I can hear the quiet, almost comforting intermittent whooshing of wet tires on the thoroughfare I had steered off moments ago. It is a pleasant sound, and one I take a moment or two to simply enjoy while I gaze at the familiar brown-and-white exterior, awash in nostalgia. The cool light lends it a serene quality, as if time had stopped for it when I had last left and had only just now resumed its flow. The lawn, damp and glistening despite the sun having hidden itself behind the wall of cloud, [COLOR="Red"]was[/COLOR] trimmed to perfection; the local landscaping team I had hired three days ago had been worth every penny. Even the bushes around the front walk [COLOR="Red"]were[/COLOR] impeccable, all the edges of their shapes rounded expertly so as to present an image of precise detail while retaining the appearance of life. [CENTER]//[/CENTER] The entrance hallway [COLOR="Red"]was[/COLOR] barren, the dark walnut-stained wood adding a dreary gloom to the day?s already dim light. It [COLOR="Red"]felt[/COLOR] close, more so than I remembered, even without the chest of drawers that had always stood opposite the stairs to the second floor. It [COLOR="Red"]had been[/COLOR] the one piece of furniture that I could never seem to get along with, always thrusting a finely-moulded corner into my path at the worst possible times. I remember thinking occasionally that my elbow would never stop hurting as long as I lived. Twelve year olds often have just such an exaggerated sense of reality. I [COLOR="Red"]ventured[/COLOR] first to the dining room. It too [COLOR="Red"]was[/COLOR] barren, my normally silent footsteps echoing off the stark wooden floor, ceiling, and walls. My hands still in my coat pockets, I cast my eyes over the whole of the room, remembering the long table with its removable leaf, which we added whenever we had important company, or more than two relatives; the towering cabinets with the glass doors that ran two-thirds of their height and the drawers underneath, for displaying and storing the china; the other various jewel cases that held other pretty items of divergent value. [CENTER]//[/CENTER] The dining room [COLOR="Red"]was[/COLOR] almost gloomier than the hallway even despite the large windows. I[COLOR="Red"] didn?t[/COLOR] bother to flip the light switch; the power had been cut off for almost two years now, after the utilities had been left unpaid. Instead I [COLOR="Red"]moved[/COLOR] to the kitchen. [CENTER]//[/CENTER] Retracing my steps, I [COLOR="Red"]crossed[/COLOR] the hallway to the expansive living room. I remembered the sofa?big enough to hold all four.... [CENTER]//[/CENTER] The doors to the cabinets [COLOR="Red"]stood[/COLOR] closed, but I knew they too were empty.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [INDENT][I]I skimmed the story for these instances as soon as she pointed the slip out. To be honest, it's a little chagrining, but it emphasizes the point I make when I call other people on this very thing: I am not immune either. Past tense is reflex, and I slipped into it when I got in a groove and didn't bother to double back and make sure of myself.[/I][/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Do you mean for it to be so melancholy?[/FONT] [INDENT]Yes, I did. That was the emotion that came to me first and stayed longest while thinking of the prompt, so I went with it. (Prompt was "an empty house".)[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]Perhaps the act of broaching the property [B]with other than myself[/B] would soften the poignancy for which I have come, and my mind knows I need to see this place for the last time as if it were the first.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]This is a little awkward. It sounds almost pretentious.[/FONT] [INDENT]Hmm. I hadn't thought of it like that. I could see how rewording might better communicate the base idea, but right now I'm not sure how else to get the concept across.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]The relative silence around me is to be expected; given the neighborhood, all its residents must either be at school, at work, or seated comfortably in front of their favorite afternoon soaps. [B]I am not likely to be disturbed by the friendly elderly at work in their gardens.[/B] I have the place to myself.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]If it's drizzling, not too many elderly will be working in their gardens.[/FONT] [INDENT]I know. That's why I made the remark right after the mention of the soaps; they're inside, so the narrator is not likely to be disturbed by those who typically work in their gardens.[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Oh. Well, that was my initial reaction, so you might want to rephrase it somehow.[/FONT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"] A single lamppost stands by the mouth of the driveway. It has stood there for as long as I can remember, [B]a ten-foot smooth metal pole[/B] curved over at the top like a shepherd?s crook to suspend the wide inverted cone of its lantern.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]You might want to revise that detail. This was a realistic story, and I don't think the house has a plinth for a lamppost.[/FONT] [INDENT]Aye. Well, it was a guess, and my initial thought was eight feet, but I'm six feet, so . . . [I]*moves hand above head*[/I] . . . eight and a half, maybe? But yeah, it's a bit tall.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"] I remember the yard in all its lights: the cold dazzling morning sun, the warm glow of the afternoon, the firefly-filled twilight, [B]the blinding rain of the thunderstorms[/B].[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]This is supposed to be light-oriented?that's your list, make it so.[/FONT] [INDENT]Hunh? Oh, I see. Well, no, that image was supposed to evoke a certain lighting effect also, so I think it fits.[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Well look at your other items. What are they?[/FONT] [INDENT]Ehh, the morning sun, the afternoon glow, the fireflies in the twilight....[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Yes, so the last item needs to be a similar light. Maybe the dark clouds before a thunderstorm?[/FONT] [INDENT]Well no, see the effect I wanted [I]was[/I] the rain?or rather, the way you can't see beyond five feet around you during a torrential downpour but there's still light. But I think I know what you mean; I'll see what I can do.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]...the [B]other [/B]various jewel cases that held [B]other [/B]pretty items of divergent value.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Redundancy. [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]The dining room [is] almost gloomier than the hallway [B][strike]even[/strike] despite[/B] the large windows.[/FONT][/QUOTE] Unnecessary.[/FONT] [INDENT]Yeah. Oops.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]...the power had been cut off for almost two years now, [U]after the utilities had been left unpaid[/U].[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Sounds like irresponsibility?if it's just abandonment and non-sale, that's different.[/FONT] [INDENT]Oh. Yeah, good point. I'll fix that.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]The doors to the cabinets stood closed, but I knew they too were empty. After my father died [B][COLOR="Red"]it[/COLOR][/B] had become an escape for her, and she quickly lost sight of the joy [COLOR="Red"][B]it[/B][/COLOR] once brought her.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]It? 'It' the kitchen? 'It' the cabinets? What?[/FONT] [INDENT]Oh, oops. :animeswea Yeah, I forgot the antecedent.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]There had been bookcases along the far wall of the living room. The one [B]on[/B] the left of the window had been designated our general library, and the one [B]on[/B] the right my father?s. I recall wondering how he could have amassed such a vast collection and managed to read them all, and wondering even more when I had been told of his personal library upstairs, but [B][COLOR="Red"]now[/COLOR][/B] it doesn?t seem nearly so incredible. I [COLOR="Red"][B]now[/B][/COLOR] have a couple of bookcases myself; I cannot [COLOR="Red"][B]now[/B][/COLOR] rival my father?s collection nor the degree to which he was well-read, but I am not so poorly off myself. I was always told I took after his intellect. The room seems more enormous than I remember it with nothing [COLOR="Red"][B]now[/B][/COLOR] present. It makes me feel small and slightly alone. A shiver darts up my spine, and I turn and head upstairs, marveling at my eagerness to escape the sensation.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]'On' to 'to' there, and too many 'now's.[/FONT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"] His reasonings?[B]that I was the closest[/B], had the better head for business, and would be less affected by the sale?couldn?t reach her.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Geographically?[/FONT] [INDENT]Yes. Hmm.[/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]After a summary tour through the rest of the house, we migrate to the kitchen so I have [COLOR="Red"][B][a][/B][/COLOR] flat surface for signing the appropriate papers.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [INDENT]Oh. Dropped a word there, I did.[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Yeah, I wasn't sure if it was that or some oddball attempt at British syntax.[/FONT] [INDENT][I]*snicker*[/I][/INDENT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]...a comfort and shelter if everything else blew up and [B]went to hell[/B].[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]You can achieve the same effect without the cursing.[/FONT] [INDENT]Ehh, I know, but I felt the narrator saying it. I agree, though, it does kinda feel....[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Common?[/FONT] [INDENT]...I was going to say 'flat', but yeah. It's just kinda meh. It is startling, though, isn't it?[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]It is that.[/FONT] [QUOTE][FONT="Arial"]I return it [strike]from beside my car[/strike] [COLOR="Red"]the call[/COLOR] and open my [COLOR="Red"]car[/COLOR] door, but before I get in I take one last look at the house and am flooded with memories once more.[/FONT][/QUOTE] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]That's excessive verbiage there.[/FONT] [INDENT]Hunh. Well, the reason I wrote it like that was because I hadn't exactly detailed the narrator reaching his car?[/INDENT] [FONT="Comic Sans MS"]True, but you can imply that fact after stating that he's lost in thought. It still makes sense that way.[/FONT] [INDENT]Oh. Right.[/INDENT] [CENTER]---------------------[/CENTER] I'll be revising this shortly and distributing it around to other people I respect for their ideas, but if anybody sees anything else they want to remark on, I'm always open.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]Basically, [COLOR=DarkRed]Jeremy[/COLOR] said everything I wanted to say, so I'll just second his post and vote for [COLOR=DarkRed][B]Endrance[/B][/COLOR].[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]You can find that answer over [URL="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=53703"][COLOR="Blue"]here[/COLOR][/URL]. And no, I wasn't wondering. Happens all the time.[/FONT]

[quote name='CrimsonKnight][COLOR="Red"']For your information, Clurr, I'm a girl.:animeangr I changed my avatar so I won't be mistaken as a "dude" again.[/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]For your information, squirt, "dude" has by now lost all ties to one gender or the other. It is most commonly used when expressing sincere appreciation or, as in this case, when the speaker feels the addressee is being a dweeb. Ease up or hush up, one. [COLOR=DarkRed]Lunox[/COLOR], I'd say it's fairly obvious that I am one of the least serious people on these boards. :p So that argument just don't hold water with me. Although I don't recall Thundercats with quite as much fondness as I recall Snagglepuss or Secret Squirrel. Hanna-Barbara > most modern cartoons. Speaking of modern cartoons, I actually rather appreciate and usually enjoy [B]Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends[/B]. Very clever show there, lovable cast, and they don't seem to feel the need to rely on the same old gags day in and day out. Plus Goo Goo is a hoot.[/FONT]

[quote name='Raiha'][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]While you make good use of the pindent feature, I find my brain assaulted by the format. Specifically the lack of space between paragraphs. It translates mentally into WALL OF TEXT....[/FONT][/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]Hmm. Typically when I've seen paragraphs single-spaced before in this setting, the paragraphs weren't indented either, so I attributed the difficulty following the work to that; 'wall of text' to me meaning that one cannot tell where one section ends and another begins. And also, I'm used to this format, since it's how I read and how I set up all my paper sketches and the subsequent copying into Word. However, I think you're right�or rather, the concern has large merit given the setting. Double-spacing the paragraphs would allow people to focus on less at once and lessen the possibly overwhelming aspect; even pages in a book are finite, after all. But that done, the indent function seems to be almost defunct, or at best ornamental. That bothers me, but the only alternative would be to indent [I]more[/I], and I don't think that would help matters. Geh. Thanks, though. Anything you see that might need polishing?[/FONT]

[quote name='Korey][FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]I think that your self esteem should be dictated by [B][I]you[/I][/B]. Thus, [B][I][U]self [/U][/I][/B']esteem? OMG, what a noble concept. [/FONT][/quote] [FONT=Arial][I]Novel[/I] concept. But yeah, sentiment echoed. [quote name='CrimsonKNight][COLOR="Red"']but, self-esteem isn't pointless simply because confidence in yourself makes you succeed. [/COLOR][/quote] I could have all the confidence in the world that I could fly, and I'll still break every bone in my body when I jump off the Sears Tower. Confidence [I]assists[/I] success. It does not ensure it. Conversely, lack of confidence ensures failure, so really, what's your better option here? [quote name='Sandy']Forget maths, you won't need most of it unless you become an accountant or something. There are many more important things school can teach you, in my opinion. ;P[/quote] Math(s?) better equip you to manage your finances and pay your bills. Higher math exercises the abstract portion of the brain, which allows one to better control abstract thought. I mean, look at me. Cal II was a breeze for me, and I can reference anything I've ever heard at the drop of a hat and generally be a first-class smart-aleck. Can you? :p To the topic, self-esteem should not be 'focused on' in schools directly because self-esteem is accrued through repeated success. If teachers in elementary schools would drive their students to exceed instead of focusing on keeping their feelings from being hurt by 'bad grades'—which is a foreign concept until someone tells a kid that not being able to instantly regurgitate information is somehow indicative of failure—then self-esteem might not be an issue, at least not in this sense. I don't recommend callousness by any means. I just get sickened by psychosocial crap caused by people afraid to put their necks on the line and push their students, or administrations who plead for mediocrity in the name of balanced education. Then again, programmed learning ain't exactly perfect either. I mean, an aircraft mechanic probably doesn't need to know trig. And electrical engineers don't need to know social customs. [I]*shot*[/I][/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]I have said it before, and I will say it again. And I'll probably say it fifty times over from now. Spongebob and all the inanity it has spawned can burn in Hell. Give me Eureka's Castle. Or Fraggle Rock.[/FONT]

[quote name='Sara][font=trebuchet ms']By the way, the "I'd choose smart, but I'd be so smart that I'd INVENT A WAY FOR ME TO BE BEAUTIFUL HAHAHAHA" replies are total cop-outs. =p[/font][/quote] :o [FONT="Arial"][I]*hug-tackle*[/I][/FONT]

[FONT="Arial"][CENTER][U][B][SIZE="3"]Last Look[/SIZE][/B][/U][/CENTER]       I pull up to the curb in front of the house instead of parking in the driveway. I had intended to do otherwise, when I had played the scene out in my head last night, but now that I am here the action doesn’t feel right. Perhaps it is my subconscious subtly distancing me from the old Tudor-style dwelling that was once my home. Perhaps the act of broaching the property with other than myself would soften the poignancy for which I have come, and my mind knows I need to see this place for the last time as if it were the first.       Perhaps I am thinking too much.       The engine dies, and I exit the car smoothly, my right hand sliding the keys free of the ignition and following my motion with fluid ease, pocketing them while my left pushes the door to. The sound of its closing is soft, distant, as if muted by the gentle steady drizzle of the overcast day. It is the only sound on the street. The relative silence around me is to be expected; given the neighborhood, all its residents must either be at school, at work, or seated comfortably in front of their favorite afternoon soaps. I am not likely to be disturbed by the friendly elderly at work in their gardens. I have the place to myself.       Three blocks behind me I can hear the quiet, almost comforting intermittent whooshing of wet tires on the thoroughfare I had steered off moments ago. It is a pleasant sound, and one I take a moment or two to simply enjoy while I gaze at the familiar brown-and-white exterior, awash in nostalgia. The cool light lends it a serene quality, as if time had stopped for it when I had last left and had only just now resumed its flow. The lawn, damp and glistening despite the sun having hidden itself behind the wall of cloud, was trimmed to perfection; the local landscaping team I had hired three days ago had been worth every penny. Even the bushes around the front walk were impeccable, all the edges of their shapes rounded expertly so as to present an image of precise detail while retaining the appearance of life.       A single lamppost stands by the mouth of the driveway. It has stood there for as long as I can remember, a ten-foot smooth metal pole curved over at the top like a shepherd’s crook to suspend the wide inverted cone of its lantern. The rest of the street is lined with streetlamps set at thirty yard intervals, each pole across the way from the previous one, their lights jutting out over the road just like everywhere else, but this lamp remains, as much a part of the house’s character as the steeply-sloping roof.       I draw a deep breath and release it, adjust my hat, and move around the car to start across the lawn, abandoning the unforgiving bleached concrete of the driveway for the softer, more direct approach. Again I wonder if this choice is my subconscious intervening, but I quickly dismiss the thought, shoving my hands into the pockets of my brown leather coat.       My stride, though purposed, is slow as I recall racing across this same lawn with my siblings and friends as we played some raucous game of Tag or Red Rover or Kick the Can. I remember sweat pouring off me as I mowed it during the almost unbearably humid summers, or cooling me as I raked leaves in the fall. I remember the yard in all its lights: the cold dazzling morning sun, the warm glow of the afternoon, the firefly-filled twilight, the blinding rain of the thunderstorms. The last I remembered mostly from the other side of the living room windows, but I had fled through such a torrential downpour more than once before.       I realize that my face has formed a slight smile at the memories. I don’t wipe it away.       Slipping between two bushes, I step onto the walk, springing lithely up the step without a second thought. I don’t even realize I have done so until my key is halfway inside the lock; turning, I stare pensively at the steps, wondering how many times I have mounted them by such exercise of reflex. An amused puff of air escapes my nose, and I shake my head, opening the door to greet the ghosts inside.       As I cross the threshold, the phantom scent of cookies fresh from the oven caresses my nostrils. My mother was an avid cook, I recall, always trying some new recipe or perfecting a successful one. My brother and sisters and I were the envy of the neighborhood because of her cookies, and I don’t doubt they remained just as popular after the last of us had left. I had hoped to bring my children back to taste those cookies.       The entrance hallway was barren, the dark walnut-stained wood adding a dreary gloom to the day’s already dim light. It felt close, more so than I remembered, even without the chest of drawers that had always stood opposite the stairs to the second floor. It had been the one piece of furniture that I could never seem to get along with, always thrusting a finely-moulded corner into my path at the worst possible times. I remember thinking occasionally that my elbow would never stop hurting as long as I lived. Twelve year olds often have just such an exaggerated sense of reality.       I ventured first to the dining room. It too was barren, my normally silent footsteps echoing off the stark wooden floor, ceiling, and walls. My hands still in my coat pockets, I cast my eyes over the whole of the room, remembering the long table with its removable leaf, which we added whenever we had important company, or more than two relatives; the towering cabinets with the glass doors that ran two-thirds of their height and the drawers underneath, for displaying and storing the china; the other various jewel cases that held other pretty items of divergent value.       Now there was nothing, save me and my memories, to speak of the life this room had seen.       The dining room was almost gloomier than the hallway even despite the large windows. I didn’t bother to flip the light switch; the power had been cut off for almost two years now, after the utilities had been left unpaid. Instead I moved to the kitchen.       The kitchen had been my mother’s sanctuary. David told me that she had insisted on repainting it as soon as we had moved here; at the time, I was too young to remember. Instead of the stained walnut of the hall and dining room, the walls here were white, except for along the center where she had painted a bright blue checkered pattern. My father had refused to allow the cabinets painted, but he had compromised by allowing her to strip the wood and reapply a honey stain. The kitchen was by far the brightest room in the house, never failing to liven the drudgery of dishwork when it had been my turn.       The cabinets covered three of the four walls, stopping only at the doors to the backyard and the dining room. The cabinets below waist level were topped by a white counter that ran the length of the far wall and the one adjacent, interrupted by a four-burner stove and an oven to my right and a two-basin sink across from me. Over the sink there were no cabinets, but instead a window to the backyard through which the sunlight streamed in the mornings and out of which I remembered gazing enviously while my brother and sisters played without me.       The doors to the cabinets stood closed, but I knew they too were empty. After my father died it had become an escape for her, and she quickly lost sight of the joy it once brought her.       Retracing my steps, I crossed the hallway to the expansive living room. I remembered the sofa—big enough to hold all four of us kids with enough room to fidget and pester one another— that had sat across from the now-dormant fireplace; the plush recliner my father had bought himself, of which he was good-naturedly possessive and which we all repeatedly attempted to usurp; and the wicker rocking chair my mother loved so dearly, where she had lulled us to sleep more times than I could hope to count. I had taken the chair at her behest in the hopes that my future wife would do the same for my children, but age and a rambunctious nephew had done it in some time ago. Mother had almost cried when I told her. So had I.       There had been bookcases along the far wall of the living room. The one on the left of the window had been designated our general library, and the one on the right my father’s. I recall wondering how he could have amassed such a vast collection and managed to read them all, and wondering even more when I had been told of his personal library upstairs, but now it doesn’t seem nearly so incredible. I now have a couple of bookcases myself; I cannot now rival my father’s collection nor the degree to which he was well-read, but I am not so poorly off myself. I was always told I took after his intellect.       The room seems more enormous than I remember it with nothing now present. It makes me feel small and slightly alone. A shiver darts up my spine, and I turn and head upstairs, marveling at my eagerness to escape the sensation.       I repeat the process once there, passing through the various bedrooms and reviving old phantoms, both welcomed and painful. I tarry longest in my father’s study and my brother’s room, which he had shared with me once Abigail had arrived. As third child I rarely had anything that had not belonged to David at one point or another, but I didn’t mind terribly. I idolized my older brother. I still ask him for advice now and again, though we’re separated by several states and an entire time zone.       As I exit Margaret’s room I hear another car pulling up to the house. It’s the realtor’s car, and she’s using the driveway. I check my watch; I came here with over an hour to spare, but it seems that I’ve been lost in memories for longer than I’d thought. I head downstairs to meet her.       It had been David’s decision for me to handle the selling of the house, despite Margaret’s consternated objections. She had wanted him to do it, viewing David as the de facto leader of the family now that our parents had passed on. His reasonings—that I was the closest, had the better head for business, and would be less affected by the sale—couldn’t reach her. The last one stung me a little, but he quickly apologized, and I understood that to him the house in this state would appear to be a mausoleum, and he simply couldn’t see it.       I meet the realtor on the front stoop. We exchange pleasantries and go over a few minor details; apparently the inspectors found some mold in the upstairs bathroom, so the cost of the repairs is to be deducted from the price. I am a little surprised and ask if she can show me, which she does. She is right, but I wonder privately if the cost is not a little high. After a summary tour through the rest of the house, we migrate to the kitchen so I have flat surface for signing the appropriate papers. That done, she hands me a check in exchange for the key, and we escort each other out.       She is a nice woman, very professional, but as we stand on the front walk and glance up at the house I can tell she can’t see what I see. It is only a house to her—a house with character, most likely, but still just a house. The character will become a selling point, I can tell. The thought unsettles me a little. I wish she could see what I see.       I see a rock in the center of constant change, a place I always knew would be there when I needed it to be, a comfort and shelter if everything else blew up and went to hell. I see a world where I spent almost half of my life, fighting and crying and loving and being fought and cried over and loved. I see myself, almost, in the doors and the walls and the windows, in the trees and the yard.       I see a home.       I part ways with her at the walk, returning over the grass the way I came. The soft, muffled sounds of the drizzly day return to my ears, and so lost in thought am I that I almost miss the realtor’s call of farewell. I return it from beside my car and open my door, but before I get in I take one last look at the house and am flooded with memories once more.       As I drive away, I hope that my children will one day feel the same as I.[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]I'll actually disagree with [COLOR="DarkRed"]Indi[/COLOR] because I think it's the one in which you deviated from established personalities the most; i.e., completely. And because the characters were just names, with no real ties to actual people, the scene visualized better for me. In short, no it didn't feel like [COLOR="DarkRed"]Aaryanna [/COLOR]because it [I]wasn't[/I] [COLOR="DarkRed"]Aaryanna[/COLOR]. I appreciate that.[/FONT]

[quote name='Endrance][COLOR="RoyalBlue"']Yeah and you know what the crazy thing is? Thats exactly what hes looking for, hes a musician like me and he actually told me word for word that by doing this he thinks he wll achieve some kind of gateway to rockstar lifestyle.[/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]There was a young sax player back when Bebop had just hit the scenes who wanted to be just like Charlie Parker. Parker was an opium addict and played phenomenally, so the kid thought there was a connection. When Parker found out the kid had started in on opium as well, he grabbed him by the collar and told him never to do it again. He said he didn't want the kid to become trapped like he had become. Drugs provide a momentary suspension of reality without effort. They do nothing to further your musical ability. You might [I]think[/I] you're better....[/FONT]

[FONT=Arial]I know a guy who quit drugs cold turkey after trying acid once. He said it completely freaked him out to the point of nervous fits. He said, and I quote, "...the trees, the f***ing [I]trees[/I] were melting. That's not right, dude." And yeah, that IM transcript was a bit of a wade. But I knew the gist of it after I read eight lines. He took his stance and rationalized it to you, and when you didn't take he tried browbeating. Common tactics. Don't buy into them.[/FONT]

[quote name='CrimsonKnight][COLOR="Red"']I never said you couldn't have both! That's not the question!!!!:animeangr[/COLOR][/quote] [FONT=Arial]Yes, you did. Observe: [quote name='CrimsonKNight][COLOR="DarkOrange"]Well, anyway, if you had [B]only two choices[/B'], would you be have beauty or would you be smart?[/COLOR][/quote] Memory is a wonderful thing.[/FONT]